


Surfacing

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Witch Hunter Robin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-13
Updated: 2009-09-13
Packaged: 2018-01-25 09:11:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1643297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three hundred and twenty years have passed since the coven sank in the dark.  Waves.  Shattered portrait.  The pieces fit but the picture will never be whole. (Pre- and early series.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surfacing

**Author's Note:**

> Written for MsCongeniality

 

 

_Three years ago_

Miho was uncomfortable. She didn't like her school uniform anyway, but sitting in the club room in the blazing summer weather was making it very difficult to stay still as she stared past her senior club members attempting to elegantly make the tea. She was on cleaning duty today, so she felt justified in not paying too much attention as long as no-one noticed.

The cicadas shrilled outside. Miho hated the buzzing, the way it burrowed into her skull. She liked to be able to think straight.

Her mind drifted as someone passed her some tea. As she drank from the cup, she thought about the laundry she needed to do that evening. She thought about when her next shift would be. She thought about phoning her parents to re-assure them that yes, she was eating properly, and yes, she was being careful living alone, and yes, she did still miss them. She thought about Matsuda in Class 3-B, and the way he laughed so openly.

Miho frowned, hoping that no-one would notice.

The other members of the tea ceremony club were silent with anticipation. Any mistake in the ceremonial procedures would be greeted with polite sympathy, only to be furiously whispered about in private the following day. 

Miho had no time for mistakes. She had no time for petty bitching either. She planned to be perfect when she was allowed to perform the ceremony herself.

Why would she think about Matsuda? They weren't in the same year, let alone mixing in the same social circles. She wasn't even totally sure what he looked like, although she'd heard stray cats squeal more pleasantly than his laugh in her opinion.

Miho brushed the thought aside as she passed the cup onwards. It wasn't hers to think.

Miho was a very rational sixteen year old. She found the macho posturing of the boys and the over-enthusiasm of the girls she knew in her class to be a waste of energy. Instead, she stayed quiet; she did her classwork well; she joined the tea ceremony club, because its elegance appealed to her (she had considered running for student council, but had realised she was not interested in bossing other people around when she could do things more efficiently herself). Her own boss at her part-time restaurant job was always pleased with her performance, and she always took compliments graciously and politely because it suited her to do so.

Miho did not, therefore, waste time worrying when she started _feeling_ things. She decided very quickly that she was clearly just rather more empathic than most people. That was why she knew that Yuki Shirakawa's father was sick before Yuki told anyone about the cancer; that was clearly why she thought her parents had argued about something just before they packed the parcel with some clothes for the winter she'd received the previous year; and that was why she knew now that one of the girls in the tea ceremony club obviously liked Matsuda.

She allowed herself a little smile before she returned to looking studious. She wasn't heartless.

It was nearly time to finish. Her legs were beginning to cramp.

~

School was eerily quiet when Miho had finished her duties. She had shooed the other club members away to leave her be so she could get on with washing and tidying up the club room by herself, despite their protests. Miho had no intention of seeming unfriendly, but she knew they would only get in the way.

The sunset was particularly beautiful that evening. The glow soaked through the surrounding buildings, and the rich light even made the heat more bearable. Although she was tired, Miho took a moment to appreciate the view through the club room windows. The cicadas were quieter now, and there was less traffic on the road past the school. Shadows stretched out from the thin trees below her towards the gates, as if they too wanted to go home for the evening.

As Miho left the room she trailed her hand absently across the wall. She wondered what else happened in that club room before she had been there. An infinite stream of first year high school students kneeling uncomfortably, watching an infinite stream of interchangeable upperclassmen conducting tea ceremonies, all the same and yet ever so slightly different.

What would she have found out if she had met them?

~

She sat on the floor of the locker room changing her shoes.

"Hey."

Miho jumped a little. She turned to look where the voice was coming from.

There was a boy slouched by the near wall of the main corridor. Well, he was wearing a school uniform, the jacket open casually as seemed to be in fashion and a bag slung over his shoulder, but Miho was wary. 

She sized him up quickly. He looked young, possibly young enough to be one of the upperclassmen, but he was too comfortable in his own skin. His slouch was practiced, with none of the lingering awkwardness of someone still not used to their own height and size.

Miho didn't know many of the older students - she just wasn't that interested - but there was something wrong with this... man.

Miho did her best not to let any of this show on her face, and kept calm. He obviously thought she hadn't noticed anything, as he smiled at her. The effect was unsettling.

"Hello." Miho continued to change her shoes, as quickly as she could without attracting attention. Why was this guy here? She'd been warned about perverts in the city enough times by her parents, but why go to so much effort?

"How come you're here so late?" The man seemed disinterested, but his voice quavered slightly. 

Miho tied her laces. "Club activities."

"Me too." The easiest answer to explain why he was here.

"Oh, which club?"

"B-Band." His eyes gave nothing away. He was clearly lying. 

"Great. I'll see you around, then." Miho stood up and started to leave. She forced herself not to run.

She tried the door. It wouldn't budge. She tried it again - no effect. Miho swore inwardly.

"Wait." The man had walked up behind her quietly. He touched her arm. He had left his bag behind. "I need your help with something." He almost sounded reassuring.

"Tha-" said Miho. 

She had just enough time to turn towards him before the terror hit.

~

In years to come, Miho would learn to compartmentalise her thought processes so that she could keep herself to, well, herself; then she could consider the traces she picked up with detachment.

If she'd been able to think, she could have shuffled through the impressions that rushed into her brain, placed them in chronological order and separated each strand into a separate "persona", as she liked to think of them; calling the impressions "people" made it too personal. In this case, there were so few personas to consider that she could have done this all in about five seconds before reporting on what had happened.

She would have seen that there had only been ten people before her. Most of them were homeless people from the cardboard cities, but there were other teenagers among the impressions, and even a young boy. All of them were lost or alone somehow, and all of them had met the same man.

He had taken them by the hand and re-assured them that he was taking them somewhere safe. He had told them all that he wanted them to help him with something on the way.

It was after he had them completely alone that he had killed them by causing every single cell of their bodies to decay at the exact same moment, essentially crumbling their bodies to dust in an instant.

He had no reason. He just did it because he could.

~

Miho fell back, wrenching her arm away. "What _are_ you?" she gasped.

The man blinked. "I'm..."

"No. Stop _lying_ to me." Miho stumbled into the doors. She didn't know how he had locked them, but she was trapped with this _thing_ in front of her. "I know what you've done." She scrambled sideways across the door and back towards the walls. "Those people..."

"I don't know what you mean." A slight smile appeared on the man's face. He began to walk slowly towards Miho, his steps robotic. His shoes clicked against the floor, the sound echoing through the empty halls. "I just wanted to you to help me with something."

Miho turned and ran, almost tripping on the steps up to the school corridors as she stumbled away. She heard the man's pace quicken behind her.

She wouldn't panic. She would just run. From his footfall she could tell that the man was faster than her, and would probably catch up with eventually, but for now she kept racing ahead.

Images flashed through her mind as she pelted down the corridors. She knew what would happen if she was caught.

She knew he was too close, but Miho almost fell round the corner into classroom 2-A, scrambling over the desks to the far side of the room. This side of the building faced out onto the road, and the windows were tall enough that she hoped someone might be able to see her.

"HELP!" Half a shout, half a scream. Miho banged on the windows, barely noticing the jarring in her wrists as they failed to give way. There was no-one there.

"Why did you run?" The man entered the room, slightly out of breath. "I just need you to help me. Why don't you want to help me?" He smiled. His eyes were dead. Sweat slithered down his face.

Miho turned away from the window and stared him down, pressing herself as flat to the wall as she could. He clearly thought she couldn't escape, and walked slowly towards her. Miho was certain she could probably avoid him again - but what would be the point? Eventually she'd tire out, and he'd find her exhausted and on the point of collapse - and then she would never escape.

There was a textbook on the desk in front of her. She grabbed it quickly, took aim, and threw.

Her attacker barely seemed to notice the book slam into his forehead and drop to the ground. The corner of the book left a cut in his forehead which slowly began to weep thin droplets of blood.

He moved closer, stretching a quivering arm out towards her in anticipation.

Miho braced herself against the wall and shoved with her legs against the desk. It teetered for a brief moment before falling heavily towards her assailant, knocking his legs out from under him and sending him crashing to the floor. One of his arms was pinned beneath the fallen desk.

Miho attempted to scramble away, but with his free hand the attacker reached out and grabbed her leg. She struggled to wrench herself free, but his grip was too strong.

"This is my right! Let me show you!"

Miho continued to try desperately to escape as fresh images flooded into her mind from her attacker's touch, forcing her to relive his previous killings over and over again.

"HELP!" She screamed again, losing control as her mind and body buckled under the empathy.

Her attacker gasped raggedly in triumph as he pulled his own hand free of the wrecked desk and reached out to take her.

~

The windows smashed open. They did not shatter straight away- the force of the impact was too swift and clean. There was only the briefest sound of the glass splintering before the noise was snatched away by a vast roaring. Miho felt the grip on her legs suddenly slacken and she broke away, stumbling to the floor and looking up to see what was going on.

Enormous columns of water poured through the gaping holes, arcing and leaping through the air. Each time they danced towards Miho they seemed to jerk away, recoiling from the space around her; the water moved unnaturally, tightly braided and spinning psychotically. The sunset refracted through the water cast shimmering glimmers around the classroom. Not even a droplet sprayed out of place.

Instead, the water struck at her attacker, lifting him from the floor and pinning him against the far wall. He struggled vainly, arms and legs thrashing out around him to no avail.

Above the roar Miho heard a shout. "Do it! I'm not doing everything myself!"

A crack. Miho winced as a large bullet shot through the waves above her, parting the water as it went and punching into the wall with a thud. Another two followed, surrounding the man with pockmarks in the wall.

"Shoot him!" The voice was angry.

A pause. The water showed no sign of vanishing . Another crack, this time followed by a wrenching gasp and a gurgle. The bullet had drilled straight through the attacker's forehead, right where Miho had hit him with the textbook. He twitched for a brief seconds before his head slumped to one side, the blood pouring more heavily from the wound.

"Thank you!" the angry voice said. "Took you long enough."

The maelstrom above Miho began to slow down. As if it were a puddle in the sunshine, it seemed to just shrink and vanish, almost dissolving into the atmosphere. Even the attacker's clothes were dry as his body fell to the floor with a disturbing crunch.

Miho breathed heavily. She felt sick. Her entire body was shaking.

Fast footsteps came towards her from outside the building, until a tall figure vaulted athletically through a hole where a window had once been. It was a young man, very tall, and probably in his late teens; no older than Miho's attacker, certainly. Clad all in black, his hair was longer than was fashionable, and his face was grimly set as he strode over to the corpse of the attacker and crouched to feel for a pulse.

The young man stood up and turned back to the windows. "He's definitely dead. I can't feel a pulse." The man's voice was very deep. Even in her shocked state Miho picked up that he was slightly nervous. 

"No surprise. You shot him in the forehead, Amon. _Eventually_." The angry voice from earlier had calmed down. Miho could now tell it was a woman speaking. "Don't waste those bullets like that. Rune engraving is expensive, and it's not like we've much in the munitions budget at present." The voice was strangely accented. Miho couldn't place where it came from.

"My apologies." The man called Amon's face remained stony. "I'll call for someone to clean this up."

"Make sure they get someone to fix the windows. We should have been here before he locked the school down, this wouldn't have gotten out of control then."

Amon said nothing as he reached into his coat and pulled out a phone. He dialled slowly, remembering the digits, before beginning to confirm details with someone. 

Miho had no idea what she was going to tell her parents. _If_ she was going to tell her parents.

There was a slight crunch and the woman Miho had heard clambered through a window. She wore a similar coat to Amon, but in a lighter grey colour, with a pale grey trouser suit to match. Her dark hair was bobbed austerely, and the way she carried herself suggested she was in her twenties or thirties; she was clearly the one in charge here. She was a foreigner, not Japanese, which explained why her accent was so strange, although Miho still had no idea where she had picked it up.

"What a mess." The woman walked over to the corpse of Miho's attacker and prodded it lightly with her foot, smoothing down her trousers as she did so. "Wish we'd got him earlier."

"E-excuse me." Miho managed to find her voice. "I should go."

The woman turned to look at her, not unkindly. "You're not going anywhere just yet. We need a word, Miss Karasuma."

Miho didn't really have the reserves left in her to be surprised that the woman knew her name. At least she wasn't shaking quite so hard now. "Who are you people?"

"You've already met my not-so-able partner Amon." The woman smiled pleasantly as Amon scowled into his phone. "I'm Kate. That'll do for introductions."

* * *

_Two years ago_

"'night, Mike. Go to sleep!"

"'night!" Michael threw in a noisy yawn for extra measure and hoped his parents could hear it through the bedroom door.

He heard a whisper of conversation. Feet padded softly on the carpet outside, and there was the sound of a door gently clicking shut.

Michael held his breath and counted to ten for good measure. He liked the ritual; it added to the thrill of it all. He knew his parents wouldn't disturb him now.

He lowered his feet to the floor with a slight crunch as he squashed wrappers and cardboard beneath him. Michael's room was a bomb site, filled with the fallout from hours of scribbling near-arcane sums and lines of code in the dead of night and piles of clothing worn once before discarding. Mr Lee thought it would be character-building to leave him to tidy it himself; Mr Lee generally left Michael to do everything himself anyway.

With as much grace as his gangly teenage limbs allowed him Michael lolloped quietly over to his desk and kicked the power button on his computer with his big toe. The fans spun into gear as he scooched a stool underneath him, and the room was soon awash with the reassuring cool glow of his custom OS installation.

Michael quickly scanned his e-mail accounts (all of them registered to false details). Aside from a moment to look at pornographic spam there was nothing worth reading, just messages from other hackers and phreakers wondering where he was.

Michael had no intention of hanging around online for long tonight. There was too much potentially at stake. He switched off his wireless connection, unplugged the spare network card just in case, and paused for a moment before typing some commands quickly to bring up the document.

He didn't know how it had ended up that way. After a while his mind just ran on autopilot, his fingers flying across the keys as he snuck in past firewalls, decrypted access codes, and generally poked around in other systems. Curiosity led him blindly on, and so it was at three in the morning he'd found himself in a Japanese network server downloading files he could barely read the titles of and being traced by some kind of inhumanly fast tracker that blazed back through his proxy servers and spoofed IP addresses. It had taken every single resource at his disposal to get something downloaded and the computer safely shut off without being detected.

Now, though, Michael could reap the benefits. Whatever it was he'd downloaded had no further encryption applied as far as he could see, and whatever it was would be worth plenty of bragging rights.

He checked the file name, double-checked he had the Japanese translation right. "STNJ1682 Test Policy Implementation". Rubbing at his eyes, Michael opened the document.

For a few brief moments, Michael was just confused. Somehow, despite his system recognising it as a plain word processing document, the text - or whatever it was - was laid out in concentric circles. The writing was like nothing he'd ever seen before; symbols composed entirely out of straight lines were laid out around the page, their meaning completely impenetrable to Michael.

He didn't know what happened after that. He later thought he remembered a strange humming sound, although he knew the speakers were switched off; the lettering might have shimmered, but with the lights off it could have been anything.

The next thing he remembered was the roar of a helicopter, lights sweeping by him, and chloroform wiping away his senses. Four hours had passed since he had opened the document, and now he would never go home again.

~

When they took the blindfold off Michael had no idea where he was. Ironically, he hadn't slept well on the flight; the chloroform had left him with a splitting headache when he eventually came round, having been transferred from a helicopter to a private jet. Being wedged between two extremely menacing guards was not the most comfortable of positions, either.

They took the earplugs out and untied his hands at the same time. 

Michael immediately tried to stand up and run, but his vision swam with the slightest movement. How long had it been since he'd eaten? He realised he was still just wearing a T-shirt and shorts and shivered slightly.

His sight began to level out again, and his eyes adjusted to the harsh bright light. Michael appeared to be sat in some kind of office. "Office" could only loosely describe it, as clearly very little effort had gone into making it look comfortable. The stonework of the walls was totally exposed, with strange awnings jutting out from every side. Michael seemed to be facing away from the windows, but it hurt to try and turn around to see.

Michael's vision was still fuzzy. He hadn't been wearing his glasses when he was taken. He was more concerned about them than seeing his parents again at the moment.

He strained through the unfocused blur of the world to pick out more features. There seemed to be computer terminals around him, although nothing like he'd seen even at home - vast widescreen monitors glowing with information he couldn't pick out at this distance, cables running down the back of sleek curved desks and scrambling around the gleaming floor. There were other chairs like his, set low on the ground without high backs to lean against; Michael found this uncomfortable, but no more so than the rest of the situation.

On one side of the room there seemed to be large iron bars. If this was a prison, it was a very _strange_ one.

Whoever had taken off Michael's restraints had somehow slipped out of the office without him noticing. No-one appeared to be in the room with him except the usually comforting hum of electronic equipment. Beneath that sound Michael could hear some sort of talking coming from somewhere nearby, but he couldn't pick out anything that was being said.

"HEY!" he shouted. His voice cracked. Puberty was a slightly less pressing concern for Michael than usual. "HEY! Anyone?"

The talking stopped for a moment. Clearly they could hear him, whoever _they_ were, but soon they started talking again and Michael was left to his own devices.

Clearly, Michael reasoned, he was in _serious shit_.

~

It was an hour before anyone came out to speak to Michael, by which time he'd managed to get back on his feet without falling over immediately afterwards. His attempts at escaping were foiled by the lift, which he couldn't seem to get to come back up to whichever floor he was on; a squint through the windows told him that trying to break out that way was definitely not a good idea, even if he had been able to break the glass. Eventually he settled for just trying to find a washroom. With that attended to, he came back, sat down and waited for something more to happen.

Michael still had no idea where he was. His best guess, given the circumstances that had brought him here, was that he was somewhere in Japan. After that, though, the office gave him no clues, and certainly there was nothing he could read without his glasses.

He had discovered the source of the earlier conversation, which was still continuing. There were steps leading up to what appeared to be another office on one side of the room. Through its glass walls Michael could make out various indistinct shapes, but nothing particularly useful. He tried to eavesdrop on the conversation for a while but it was completely impenetrable, something about "indemnity" and "placebo procedures", and he soon lost interest. All that he could really see was the mess of wiring around the floor; they may have had alarmingly clever security systems, but Michael was definitely unimpressed by the sloppy presentation.

Finally the talking stopped. There was a soft click and part of the glass panelling above Michael swung open. A tall figure, whose indistinct features sharpened into an imposing man in a suit, came down the stairwell slowly, his shoes clicking harshly against each step.

Michael sized up his captor as best he could. The man in front of him was probably in his late forties or early fifties - whoever he was, he was definitely _old_ \- with his hair combed straight back. Frown lines etched his mouth, and his eyes were hard and cold. His tie and suit were pristine, although he carried the scent of cigar smoke. He reminded Michael of his father, which didn't bode well.

"Michael Lee." The man's voice was deep and firm. Michael's named sounded foreign to him in Japanese. "I should have you killed right now." Michael opened his mouth to speak but the steel in the man's eyes was enough to shut him up. "Do you know where you are?"

"N-no." Michael stammered slightly, shifting in his seat. He seriously considered leaping to his death down the lift shaft for a moment.

"You are in the Tokyo branch of a organisation known as Solomon. In time you'll come to know this office as the STN-J, but for now just think of it as your prison until I decide what to do with you. You can be thankful that your genetic makeup is... compromised... by the Witch gene, otherwise the primary protection on that document would have electrocuted you and there'd be nothing left of you but ash."

Michael found a small amount of courage somewhere and ventured to speak. "I don't get you. What do you mean, `Witch gene'? What's going on? What was with those weird circles?" Something whirred menacingly in the background, startling Michael slightly.

"What makes you think I owe you an explanation for anything? You may be an accomplished hacker, particularly given your youth, but you owe _me_ for my clemency." The man moved around slightly as he talked, taking tiny, deliberate steps, meandering about the floor. "You belong to the STN-J, Michael. The rest may be up for discussion later."

"What do I do now?"

"Well, first of all, you take these." The man presented Michael with something - his glasses. Michael snatched them and put them on, wincing as the world came back into focus. "Then, you put some clothes on and try to look respectable. There's some in that drawer over there." The man pointed to one of the nearby desks. "Then... we'll see. Make sure you're decent before the staff arrive."

Michael mumbled some particularly choice swear words under his breath.

"What was that, boy?" The man's eyes were like ice.

"Yes, Boss." Michael was as petulant as possible.

"The name is Zaizen. I don't expect you to talk to me again, but if you do I hope you will remember my name. Now get dressed. I'm going out."

Zaizen turned away and headed for the lift, which had mysteriously re-appeared. Michael didn't dare to follow. As the mechanisms whirred and clunked and Zaizen left, Michael sighed heavily before getting up and checking the drawer.

The drawer contained a messy bundle of clothing and possessions; some cargo pants that were slightly too long for Michael's legs, a black V-neck jumper and some kind of dog tag with scratched-out writing. Michael hoped the boxer shorts were clean as he headed back to the washroom to get changed.

~

"You're violating all health and safety protocols sitting like that. Mr Kosaka, is he covered by the office insurance policy?"

Michael had decided to be as annoying as possible and sit in the middle of the floor so that when anyone eventually arrived at the office they couldn't fail but notice him. He was more than a little pissed off when everyone simply stepped around him without acknowledging him, especially the girl who looked like she was barely any older than him. If anything, she'd _glared_ at him. Never mind the fact that he was trapped in an office leagues away from home with people who obviously did something fishy for a living; being ignored was _far_ worse.

The first person to speak to him was in fact the office skivvy, who turned out to be called Hattori. After querulously lambasting him for taking up space he eventually shooed him over to an empty workstation. The computer at first proved lifeless until Michael discovered the power cable had fallen out the back, but after a little scrabbling around on the floor he managed to sort it out.

It was another couple of hours before anyone spoke to Michael again, time which he spent poking around as far as he could in the system. There wasn't any kind of network login to bypass; clearly the system administrator here had never seen the need for any kind of protection from the actual staff members themselves. He couldn't seem to get into any kind of e-mail software and there was no Internet connection available, though; there wasn't any way for him to contact his parents to get him out of this mess. They probably knew all about this anyway by now.

Michael set about finding out exactly what it was he'd landed himself into. The other employees seemed engrossed in their work, not even speaking to each other. They seemed to be filing reports of some kind, but quite what for Michael couldn't see.

What Michael discovered wasn't really what he'd had in mind, but at least it explained a few things - about the "Ogham" runes he'd read on the document, about the Witch genetics that Zaizen had been talking about, and the very draconian security measures employed to keep him out - and then, it seemed, to keep him in.

He was just coming to the end of trawling through some old spreadsheets with data on various Witches when one of the other employees decided to address him out of nowhere. 

"Do you drink coffee?" The speaker was a woman, probably in her thirties, with dark hair. She'd turned to look at him as she spoke. Her blue-green eyes seemed calm; Michael was surprised to see someone else non-Japanese here. None of the others paid any attention.

Michael was surprised and took a little time to answer. "No."

"Neither do I. Can't stand the stuff. So mine's a peppermint tea; there's bags in the kitchen area. Miss Karasuma here-" the woman pointed to the young girl, who nodded stiffly, "just drinks hot water. Amon-" this time to a guy dressed all in black, who was frowning at his computer screen "drinks nothing at all, don't worry about Kosaka, Mori keeps miso sachets..." and on she went pointing out everyone in the office, most of whom at least grunted to acknowledge Michael's presence.

Michael sat there, confused but grateful.

"So?" the woman said. "What are you having?"

"Got any cola?" Michael was as deliberately cheeky as possible.

"Maybe. Depends if you get off that seat and get everyone else's drinks, kid."

"Yes, Boss." Michael was a little annoyed to discover there wasn't any cola in the office after he'd made everyone's drinks. The woman - Kate - thought it was funny, though no-one else seemed to share her enthusiasm.

~

The ice was, if not broken, at least slightly thawed out after that. Michael started off just doing chores around the office; after Zaizen had found him at the computer he'd both docked Hattori's salary for the month and arranged with Solomon for proper network authentication to be put in place on the system. Michael thought about stealing one of his new colleagues' phones to try and hack back in again but, mindful of what happened the last time he'd come up against Solomon, he quickly decided against it. A least people would occasionally talk to him with frosty civility now, rather than completely ignore him.

A few weeks after his arrival Zaizen authorised the team to take down a Witch who'd been using illusions to cause car accidents on the Shuto Expressway; a teenage girl killing for kicks, it seemed. The team mobilised quickly, but Kate hung behind deliberately as Michael continued to sweep the floor.

"Hattori, you'd better head downstairs. The guard's fallen asleep at his desk reading horoscopes again." Kate looked back and jerked her thumb towards the lift which was about to leave.

Muttering shrilly, Hattori dumped the files he was carrying and raced over to join the rest of the team. As the mechanisms clanked and the lift descended, Kate turned back towards Michael. There was no-one else around - Kosaka and Zaizen had gone to a strategic planning meeting at Solomon headquarters.

"Can I get you anything while I'm out?" Kate spoke casually, as if it meant nothing at all.

"Donuts. Please." Michael couldn't believe his luck.

"You'll get what you're given." The lift had come back, with a confused Hattori inside. Kate headed out, her eyes glinting in the artificial light as her coat swept behind her.

Hattori was even more confused when he saw Michael's grin. If sweeping up could give you that much satisfaction, Hattori was definitely in the wrong line of work.

~

Although Kate never did bring donuts (apparently they weren't healthy for growing boys, in her opinion) she did speak to Michael more often after that. Sometimes she'd stay behind at work and ask him about his past - his family and friends from back home, what he did in his free time, small things about hacking, anything to show an interest. Slowly the others, too, would begin to make small talk as Michael swept and cleaned and made the tea, until it was only Amon who said very little - but then, as Kate said, he never said much to anyone unless they were on the end of a phone.

Kate herself never revealed anything much about herself to Michael in these conversations. Although she demonstrated her Craft once or twice (although she was especially careful around the electronic detritus in the office) she was reluctant to discuss how she'd first discovered she could manipulate water. She wouldn't even tell him what country she had come from. Many of their conversations ended awkwardly; there was always some part of Kate sealed away that Michael couldn't get to.

After a few weeks Kosaka passed a memo round the office reporting that Michael would take over IT responsibilities as there was no money left in the office budget for petrol claims by Solomon's peripatetic technician. After a few months, Zaizen announced that, rather than Michael continuing to listen in on STN-J's encrypted communication channels while the team were out Hunting, he would be allowed to help operations from the office.

The formal announcement came in a staff meeting, at the same time as Kate revealed that she was moving into an apartment owned by Zaizen's daughter, Touko. Zaizen mentioned a new policy coming into effect the following week; Michael thought it was something to do with orbits, but he hadn't really been paying attention.

* * *

_One year ago_

The couch was ridiculously deep. It threatened to swallow Yurika as she tried to slouch her way into it. She would have paid a lot of money - well, her mother's money - to completely disappear into the cushioned abyss.

Unfortunately, the sofa was one of the few things in the world that didn't do what Yurika wanted. One of the _other_ things was sitting at the exquisitely furnished desk opposite her.

Yurika's father was poised in a large leather office chair. He toyed with a Newton's cradle at his desk as he waited for his daughter's response to his proposal. The ruthless clicking of the metal balls as they smacked back and forth set Yurika's teeth on edge; she gave the fibres that attached the balls to the metal framework the evilest look she could and willed them to snap. Once again, however, the universe conspired against her.

It was not looking to be a very good day.

Her father continued to fiddle with his executive toy, his face awash with irritating benevolence as it clattered and crunched.

Yurika's silent resolve finally crumbled. "I'm still not interested." She was aiming for "professional disdain"; unfortunately, she ended up with "petulant toddler", but at least she'd meant well.

"I'm still not giving you a choice." Her father smiled. "Although I doubt you're concerned, I'm sure we can smooth over any suspicious absences while you report back - or while you catch up on schoolwork. I don't think I'll get anywhere with the head of the office you'll be posted to, but I can grease a few cogs with the administration, you know the drill." He waved his hand amiably, knocking the Newton's cradle into teeth-crunching action once again. "You'll get a gun, you know."

Yurika was not your average teenage girl, but even she wasn't particularly excited about the chance to kill people - even if they were Witches. "Great," she said, rolling her eyes. "I get to be a murderer AND a mole."

She was secretly quite interested in her father's little project; the idea of office espionage appealed to Yurika, although she really could have done without the heavy-handed recruitment process - the risk of death was another downside, but she preferred to deal with one thing at a time.

Her parents had never hidden their line of work from their daughter when she was young; she had been forced to learn very early in life that she was a Seed, someone with the genetic potential to develop supernatural abilities and possibly go crazy as a result. They had made brutal contingency plans in the event that Yurika's Awakened state of mind ended up compromising their work as high-level executives for Solomon - an organisation that Yurika suspected even her parents did not understand fully. For the meantime, however, her father had called her in to the office to ask her to do some work for him.

"This is a very important job, Yurika. God knows why I think you can be trusted with it." Yurika smiled at the insult. "I take all allegations of internal misconduct very seriously. Our own monitoring of the use of Orbo is limited at best; of course Zaizen updates us on its effectiveness regularly, but there are inconsistencies in his accounts, and I have received reports from Factory personnel that there are certain areas of the facility that only he has clearance to enter."

"Why not do this yourself? Don't you trust this Craft user?" Yurika shifted a little on the couch. Her father had told her that a woman working at STN-J in Tokyo had sent a covert message to Solomon regarding `Orbo', some kind of experimental defensive chemical that was being trialled there, but there were no further details as yet.

"We need someone on the inside. Besides, would _you_ trust a Craft user over a human, or even another Seed?" Her father's voice was neutral. This was just how things were.

Yurika sighed. "I get it, no choice, do my best for the company, so on and so forth. Do I at least get a salary?"

It was her father's turn to smile. "Technically, you'll be my employee, Ms Doujima."

Yurika heaved herself off the couch in a deliberately ungainly fashion. "Well, then. In that case, I think I need some new work clothes."

"Oh, one last thing."

"Yes?"

"Try not to work too hard. You know what an over-achiever you are sometimes, Yurika."

~

They had arranged to meet in Shibuya, at the Tsutaya Starbucks. Yurika wanted to meet the informant somewhere crowded in case there was anyone tailing her; it was also the perfect location for some more shopping afterwards, but that was purely an added bonus.

Yurika scratched the bank of her neck as she watched the world go by through the vast glass windows, staring at the pedestrians swarming across the Hachiko Square crossing. She liked central Shibuya better at night, when the streets glowed with neon light, the atmosphere crackled and the detritus of city life was hidden away in the darkness; with a fake ID Yurika could happily lose herself in the clubs of Dougenzaka and forget the world around her. By day, though, even in the summer sun the streets felt somehow cold and oppressive, with corporate headquarters looming on the horizon and seas of anonymous salarymen amongst the overpriced shops. Even the inordinately expensive green tea Yurika had bought to calm her nerves failed to warm her up.

She could at least claim the tea back on expenses later.

Yurika recognised the informant as soon as she joined the near endless queue to be served. They had spoken briefly by telephone on a secure line at the Solomon offices to make arrangements to recognise each other - a particular brooch for the informant, a favourite bracelet for Yurika - but it was obvious just from the way the woman carried herself. Her hands grasped her handbag too tightly; she looked constantly to the sides rather than straight ahead; her movements were just slightly too cautious, as if she were ready to flee at any given moment. Not something that someone would normally notice straight away, but this was Yurika's forte - seeing through pretence.

The woman - Kate, Yurika remembered - eventually paid for a bottle of water and some kind of wrapped sandwich. She made her way over to the counter where Yurika was sat.

"Is this seat taken?"

"Be my guest." Yurika swept her shopping off the seat next to her to let Kate sit down.

Kate put down her handbag and took off the thin coat she was wearing. She was dressed casually; she had told Yurika she had the week off work. 

Kate carefully unwrapped the sandwich and began to eat it fairly inelegantly. Small blobs of mayonnaise began to fall out of one end; she grabbed a napkin with her free hand and tried to wipe up the mess while she chewed.

Yurika sipped her tea while she waited. Somewhere in the maelstrom of fellow customers she thought she heard someone arguing, but she wasn't sure.

After she had finished her first mouthful Kate put down the sandwich. She placed her hands loosely around the bottle of water, almost caressing it. She sighed.

"They sent _another_ kid? What are you going to do, throw your homework at me?"

Yurika forced her anger down as well as she could and slouched in her seat to try and look casual. "Like it or not, office lady, I'm what you've got. Did you bring it?"

"You definitely weren't followed?"

"Who'd follow me? If anyone sees me I'm just another effortlessly attractive and charming rich kid out in Shibuya." Yurika leant in slightly closer. "Did you bring it?"

Kate's eyes narrowed slightly. She dug into her pocket and drew out a dark, metallic pendant shaped like an ankh threaded with black cord. The pendant held a glass capsule containing a liquid that looked remarkably like the green tea Yurika was drinking.

"May I?"

"Certainly. I want it as far away from me as possible."

Yurika took the pendant and turned it over in her hands. She thought she could see faint bubbles within the liquid, but it was probably just a trick of the light. She felt the cord for a moment.

"How does it work?"

"No-one really knows. No-one else cares; they just use the stuff. I tried to get our tech guy to look into it but he's not much of a one for chemicals; it doesn't affect the others like it affects me."

"So?"

Kate glanced sideways at Yurika briefly, her fingers tracing idle patterns around the contours of the water bottle. "The Orbo reacts to Craft use and absorbs its effects. I don't know how it works - it makes this weird noise, starts bubbling and glowing and so on. It's good for defending ourselves against Awakened Witches; it soaks up most of the effects of any Craft used on the wearer. Zaizen's given me dispensation not to use it as it seems to interfere with my own Craft.

"When I do use it, though, there's something clearly wrong. It's not just that it weakens my Craft. Maybe it's just because I'm hydrokinetic, but..." She trailed off, her brow furrowed as she searched for the words.

"But what?" Yurika touched Kate's arm supportively. The older woman didn't resist - a good sign. "Go on."

"I can feel the way it reacts - as far as it lets me, that is. The Orbo soaks up even more of my Craft if I use it directly on it. There's just _something_ under the surface, though, that worries me. 

"It's not just that, though. Back in the spring I found Mori - my old partner - crying at his desk when he thought no-one was looking. He screamed at me to leave him alone - he was... enraged, somehow, like he was out of his mind. He had his Orbo pendant clutched in his hand; he was... bleeding... where the metal had dug into his palm.

"He took early retirement last month, said he couldn't cope any more; I spoke to his wife, and he keeps having nightmares about _things_ crawling through his eyes, trying to escape. He was the only normal human left in the office." Kate was becoming more agitated.

"No-one knows what this stuff is except Zaizen, and he won't tell us anything. I think what we're doing is good - it's more humane for the Witches, after all, rather than just killing them. But why call that facility of his "the Factory"? What are the Witches we capture doing there - are they making something? The others don't understand, not even Michael. No-one will listen to me. They think I'm losing my mind - that I'm going to become a Witch. But I'm not. I'm just _scared_."

Kate unscrewed the bottle of water and drank from it deeply. 

"I'm not sure what to think." Yurika spread her hands wide to emphasise her point. "I hope you're just being paranoid. I would be, too, if I were a Craft user."

Anger flashed across Kate's face. "I knew this would be a waste of time. I should never have spoken to Solomon. Then I wouldn't be dealing with some brat with no idea of what it's like out in the field."

"Now, now, office lady, don't be like that. I'm on your side here. I'm not saying I don't believe you. I just don't _want_ to." Yurika sighed. "Look, Solomon has its own concerns about Zaizen's Orbo project. Everything seems to be above board; that's not to say he's not up to something, but I'm going to need more than the feelings of a Craft user to back up any report I make back to the ones who posted me here." Yurika's parents were pulling a lot of strings to make sure nothing could be linked back to them in the event that her cover was blown; she wasn't going to volunteer her family connections to this woman. "Sure, I'm young; too young, maybe. But that puts me in the perfect position to be ignored while I gather evidence."

"Fine. I'll take you seriously, you'll take me seriously. So now what?"

"My first day at STN-J is tomorrow. When you come back to the office next week we've never met. I'll find a way to contact you privately out of work if I need to. Otherwise, just let me get on with it - I've been very well briefed."

Kate took a smaller swig from her bottle and looked out at the heaving crowds below them. "You're certain that no-one will know? If my - our - colleagues guess there's something going on..."

"They won't. If they do, they'll keep it to themselves. Ours is not a line of work you divulge information in unless strictly necessary, after all. For all you know, my name could even be fake." Yurika waved her hands. "It's not, though! Honest!"

Kate smiled ruefully. "Fine, then, Ms Doujima. In that case, I suppose I'll be seeing you at work. You'll fit right in, now; I'm like a grandma compared to the rest of you." She gathered up her belongings, almost snatching away the Orbo pendant, and put her coat on quickly. "Nice to meet you." She gave a quick bow out of formality. "I'm going to try and enjoy the rest of my week off. I think there might be a lot of wine involved."

She walked away and out of the building. After a minute or so Yurika thought she could see Kate on the crossing below her, a small grey splodge in a vast grey metropolis. Realistically, though, it could have been anyone.

~

Yurika finished dictating her preliminary report and uploaded it over the secure link in her phone directly to her father's office. She'd been meaning to complete it the previous night; she justified her procrastination as getting into character for the job ahead. She'd also left a written draft for Kate in a pre-agreed location at Shibuya station; it was the best she could do in the short-term until they'd had more time to agree on how to communicate.

Yurika raised her eyes ruefully as she pondered the day ahead. She hoped this job would be easier than the last one.

She checked her watch. She was due at the office at eight thirty for an induction and tour; she felt that ten past nine was fashionably late enough for a first day.

Yurika gathered her thoughts as she walked down the road and headed nonchalantly into the imposing building. Ignoring the slightly confused man at the front desk, she headed straight for the lift, smiling over-exuberantly at the security camera inside for good show.

She took a breath before the doors opened at the top. She yawned as widely as she could before taking what she hoped was a sleepy step into the office. 

"Hello, everyone. Am I late? I'm Doujima, your new recruit. Nice. To. Meet. You.". She slumped into an approximation of a bow, startling a passing office assistant into dropping his paperwork.

At least the beginning was always fun, Yurika thought, as a balding man she presumed was the office manager started to accelerate into berating her for her lateness.

* * *

_Nine months ago_

Haruto had turned up at the first temping agency he saw not really knowing what to expect. His parents had given him A Talk about how to present himself as a good candidate, and so he was wearing his best suit - yet another family hand-me-down, but at least it fit. He'd even managed to iron a shirt.

When he turned up they'd asked him to fill out a specific _rirekisho_ instead of taking one of the forms he'd prepared beforehand. It didn't take long, with only a part-time job or two to fill in with the obvious. A computerised test and a brief interview with an overly enthusiastic man later, and Haruto was ushered out with the promise of phone calls if anything turned up for him.

A week later Haruto was working as holiday cover in a law firm. The boss didn't seem to be around much and the other assistant wasn't the nicest of ladies, but he filed as best he could. The first morning he was there he was asked for a blood test - standard practice for all employees, the woman said, should have been done by the temping agency. He winced a little when the syringe went in.

That evening the phone rang while his family was eating dinner. It was the enthusiastic man from the recruitment agency, to tell him that he wouldn't be returning to the law firm the following day. It wasn't a problem, he hastened to add, they had another opportunity that would be better suited to him and paid more. Haruto took down the address and the other details before thanking the recruitment consultant.

His parents didn't understand why Haruto was being let go so soon. Haruto didn't either. Was there something wrong with his work? No-one had said anything. At all, in fact; none of his co-workers had spoken to him that day. He'd just done everything (faster, he noted, than anyone else) and that was that.

He didn't sleep very well that evening. The new job only wanted him to turn up at eleven, but Haruto nearly overslept anyway. After wasting five minutes hunting for his keys, he dug out the address he was heading for. He wasn't sure that he'd got the spelling right, it seemed like it was something in English, but he knew the road they'd mentioned.

He'd forgotten to leave the bike in neutral the previous evening. After switching it on he left the engine to warm up for a moment and checked the address again. _Raven's Flat_.

Haruto sped off, hoping he wouldn't be late for his first day in another new job.

~

"Haruto Sakaki." Kosaka looked briefly over the paperwork in front of him. Haruto tried not to look nervous. "Driver's _and_ bike licence... mmm... hmmm..." 

The freezing winter outside conspired with the chill of the strangely omnipresent air conditioning to give Haruto goose-bumps. He's been told the dress code was smart-casual, but he'd wished he'd brought something warmer than just a work shirt. He assumed the air con was for the vast array of computer equipment he'd seen briefly in the office outside; even now he could hear it humming away in the background, along with the tinny sounds of what sounded like rock music.

Kosaka seemed to be sizing Haruto up. "I can't believe I have to do this. Why isn't Mr Zaizen here..." Haruto realised he was starting to panic when he tried to look understanding and none of his facial muscles would work; he imagined he looked a little like a startled dog, and hoped it wouldn't count against him.

"Well, you've passed the medical, that's all that really matters. Michael should have set you up on the computers last night. Just go back through there and start inputting the data." The administrator was clearly not interested any more and had moved on to something else. He waved a hand dismissively. "Go on, get out."

Haruto mumbled his thanks and left the small office to find his workstation.

~

"You ride a bike?" The guy named Michael brought up a spreadsheet with a few taps of the keyboard, his fingers flicking almost invisibly across the keys. "Cool. Are you in one of those bike gangs?"

"Shut up, Michael. Once you're done with that, can you check something in the police database for me? Oh, and a mug of hot water too, please." Karasuma, the girl sitting next to Haruto, tapped a pad of paper thoughtfully. "Actually, scratch that. The new guy can get it."

"I'm just a temp. I might not be here tomorrow. No point in training me up on kitchen duty. And yeah, sure, I was in a bike gang, if that makes you happy." Haruto was being deliberately cocky, trying to assert his place quickly. He didn't have to tell them it was his elder brother's bike, yet another hand-me-down in the family.

"He's got a point, you know. You're so good at it now, Michael." Doujima, the other girl in the office, was lying flat on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. "I'd help, but I've spent so long shopping I can't actually move my legs any more. What a shame."

Michael sighed. "Okay, okay. Right, new guy, here's the spreadsheet." He pointed to the stack of papers next to the computer. "Here's the data. Don't bother reading it, just put it in these cells. When you're done, go and speak to the bald guy again, and you can probably go." Michael leapt away from the computer screen to go and help Karasuma.

"Got it." 

Haruto wasn't great with computers but he got into the rhythm of the data entry pretty quickly. The data was just personal detail entry, presumably for clients of whatever company this was; each person had a small code to be entered written in Roman lettering, and Haruto had to add in comments about their relationships with each other. Most family members had the same Roman code, but Haruto had no idea what it might mean. The muted sound of guitar music from Michael's headphones was a pleasant enough backdrop for basic work like this, and the thought of all the advantages of having a paid job - namely, being able to move out of his parents' place sooner rather than later - was a good enough incentive to keep going.

After a few hours Karasuma's phone rang, startling Doujima into waking up from where she had virtually passed out on the floor. Haruto typed with deliberate softness to try and hear whoever was on the other end of the phone, but he couldn't hear anything. Karasuma only seemed to confirm instructions from whoever she spoke to before she hung up and grabbed her coat from the back of the seat.

"Kate's tracked him down. Amon's already there; let's go." She stopped and thought for a minute. "I guess that includes you, Mr Temp."

"What? Where?" Haruto wasn't expecting this. He didn't realise he'd have to go to other offices. He scrambled away from the computer and picked up his bike keys.

"Didn't they tell you? We're massively short-staffed, so we've got you on a short-term contract. You've got to be a Hunter."

Karasuma explained the basics in the lift. Haruto couldn't decide whether this was the best or the worst thing that could have happened to him right now - but it still sounded pretty cool, whatever it was.

~

Kate put her phone back in her jacket pocket. "They're on their way. We don't have much longer." She spoke quietly, not wishing to attract more attention.

"I don't have long whatever happens." Kate's companion was a man in his forties. He wore a dark green sweater and brown slacks over his painfully thin body.

"How long?"

"Weeks, maybe. My daughter doesn't know I've come to meet you. Methuselah told me there's a doctor at the hospital - Kurohara - who could take it away, but I don't want that. It's my punishment, I will accept it." The Witch coughed in a rasp, steadying himself against the wall of the alley in which they stood.

"Fine. You know that my end of the bargain will be kept. Now yours."

"The message from Methuselah is that she cannot help you. There is nowhere for you to hide. If you disappear they will find you; if you don't, there is nothing you can do. They will trace the source of any leak you make."

"You have to help me." Kate's voice was strained. "We have to get this information out there somehow. You've studied it, you know what the Orbo contains, what the Factory must be doing. Surely Methuselah can stop it?"

"Methuselah is too old. The coven is weak, scattered in tiny fragments across the world that barely recognise each other. So many are driven mad by their Crafts, even though more and more appear each day. She can do nothing now."

Something simmered in Kate's eyes. There was a long silence. "There must be something we can do."

"Something _you_ can do, maybe. Not I. The old world, the old ways; these are what I cling to. You must find a new way for the old power to resurface."

Kate's earpiece crackled. "I'm nearly there." Amon's voice was gruff. She could hear a car door slam in the background. "Where are you?"

She paused for a brief moment and looked at the male Witch, her eyebrows furrowed. He nodded sadly.

Kate's eyes went liquid for a brief moment and she turned away. The Witch breathed sharply for a fraction of a second before his brain drowned in the watery soup Kate had conjured inside his head. A pinkish froth poured from his mouth and nose with a gurgle. As he fell his body seemed to collapse in on itself, until there was nothing but a nauseating pile of half-formed limbs surrounding his clothing. 

Kate thought she would be sick.

"Kate, do you copy?" Amon used one of Michael's favourite terms. She almost smiled as she gagged on the smell.

"I copy. Target is dead. He attacked and I overreacted. I'll do the forms when we get back."

Kate walked away sadly, covering her mouth with her sleeve.

* * *

_Six months ago_

Touko sat casually on the side of the bed. The springs in the mattress creaked if she shifted her weight, and although this wouldn't normally bother her so much she wanted tonight to be absolutely perfect. She would have to buy a new one at the weekend.

If Amon was nervous he hadn't given her any indication of it; he seemed as detached as ever. He made no gesture when she slipped her arm in his as they walked through the gardens in Itabashi. He didn't complain when she spent half an hour just wandering around the aquarium, marvelling at the tropical fish. That evening, after walking for what seemed like hours, he treated her to dinner at a tiny _shabu-shabu_ restaurant tucked down a side alley in Oji; he lapsed into silence unless pressed for details, murmuring briefly about stories from his childhood and his brother, and Touko had struggled to hear him over the sounds of other customers. The train ride back to Touko's apartment was silent; she sat there draped in his coat, the weather unseasonably cold, unable even to doze. The sake she'd drunk to steel her nerves failed to warm her blood.

She flicked her right shoe off gently with her left foot and flexed her toes while she waited. Every sound seemed to boom and echo around the room. No-one else would be there tonight. 

"How has it been now since Kate left?" Amon's voice was quiet but still bounced off the walls. She heard the trickle of water; he was probably making tea.

"You know how long. No news?"

"Nothing."

Amon thudded towards Touko's room, carrying a single cup of tea for her. For whatever reason he never took his shoes off inside the apartment; Touko didn't complain, she didn't see the point. She didn't think she'd ever get him to change.

She took the tea carefully, enjoying the warmth that spread to her hands through the delicate cup - a moving-in present from her mother. It meant more to her than the apartment itself, which had been a gift from her father, but then that was the way things had always worked. Her stepmother had given her a quick, wan smile as she left, which had been enough.

Amon had hung his coat by the door. He had even unbuttoned his shirt slightly. This was as relaxed as Touko had ever seen him.

He sat next to her, unsmiling even as the mattress creaked. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him smile - if she had _ever_ seen him smile. She thought she could see something tender in his eyes.

They sat in silence for a long time as Touko sipped at her tea. The world churned with nerves.

She put the cup down on the floor and turned to look at Amon. She took a steadying breath as she reached up to brush his hair out the way, drawing closer.

Amon's eyes narrowed. "Yes?" he barked. Touko recoiled. She could hear a tinny voice coming from somewhere. She realised Amon hadn't removed his earpiece all day.

Amon listened. "Where?" He spoke more quietly. "Where will I... I see. I'll do it." 

He was already halfway out the door. Touko heard the rustle of his coat before the door clicked behind him.

The dregs of tea at her feet were long cold before she smashed the cup against the wall.

~

Amon normally liked the darkness, and not just for the tactical advantage it offered. He liked to be able to slip away into himself, to think about things properly without any distraction. The shadows offered up nothing to distract him.

Here, however, things were different, in this maze of cramped alleyways and rancid smells around every turn. There was never any light here, not even in the blazing summer which turned the air to soup. It was Michael who first called it the Walled City, his father having been to Kowloon years ago.

Amon hoped Michael knew nothing of what was going on.

Zaizen had called in with the order. A courier had left a message at Raven's Flat that evening - a message from Kate, addressed to Zaizen personally. Amon had his suspicions about where the message had come from; he would have to ask his brother about that later.

The message was a GPS reference. Zaizen had sent the co-ordinates to Amon's phone. They had led him here. 

They had once killed a Witch down these corridors, back before Orbo was introduced. Back when Kate was still Amon's partner. Back when she hadn't stolen confidential information from the office and gone on the run, or whatever it was she had done. It didn't matter. He didn't remember the details any more. He wasn't sure he even knew them. He knew what he had to do, though.

Amon moved quickly as he tracked the co-ordinates, gun held ready. The corridors snaked into each other, past ramshackle doors and dangling pipes. Greying laundry hung from lines suspended between buildings, inert and lifeless in the night.

Something dripped. Amon whipped his head round and hands upwards, ready. There was nothing. A rat clawed through rubbish near his feet, chittering as if to mock him.

Amon had left his earpiece in, but expected no interference. Zaizen would not contact him. He didn't think Touko would, either.

His phone vibrated once, to show he'd arrived at his destination. Amon stepped round the corner, gun at the ready.

He rounded onto a large room. Amon hadn't thought there were any open spaces in the Walled City, he wondered whether these were just the roots of industrial buildings above him, creating a hidden alcove purely by chance. A concrete ceiling speckled with tiny fractures stretched out above him. 

The floor was wet. Amon took an experimental step forward. A tiny splash spread from his footfall.

Water raged and foamed about him in an instant, catching Amon by surprise. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the spitting walls of liquid that leapt up from the floor, cursing himself for leaving himself open to attack. 

Kate made no move to strike from her position in the centre of the room. Instead the water pushed at Amon, forcing him closer and closer. He moved his hand back to grip his gun as he walked, water spraying out around him with each step. More water closed in behind him, sealing his escape route off. Now there was nothing but Amon, his target and the walls of water around them.

Despite her dishevelled suit and blouse, Kate seemed alert and focused. Her eyes shimmered with a deep aqua. Small jets of water leapt from around her feet, fizzing and popping with an almost electric froth. 

Amon kept his sights aimed steadily on her.

Kate smiled, thinly but genuinely. She spoke clearly above the water, her voice somehow amplified. Her accent was stronger than usual. 

"I hoped it would be you."

"Who else would have come? Karasuma? Sakaki?"

"Yurika... Doujima might have come. I think she could have done it. She might have liked to."

Amon's eyes were narrow. "You think too much."

She laughed, gesturing widely as she did, her hands sweeping out gracefully in harmony with the maelstrom around her. "You could have killed me already, Amon. I remember those bullets. You're not even wearing your Orbo. No Orbo to fight a Craft user?"

"A Witch." He spoke flatly. He paid no attention to the static buzz in his ear telling him his earpiece was dead. He didn't see the reception on his phone fading in and out. He still knew they were isolated down here. 

"Is that you or Zaizen speaking?"

"Does it matter?" Amon's finger was steady on the trigger.

"It matters to me. Whether you've reached that decision yourself or are just following orders, like usual." He wanted her to be mocking him, like she did when they'd first been partnered up. Something to make him angry, something to force his hand. There was nothing there; just neutrality, maybe even happiness.

"I know he's right. _Sakaki_ checked the access logs, of all people. How could you make it so obvious?"

"Of course it was obvious." The waters surged slightly, lapping up Amon's logs. "I wanted to open your eyes, Amon. You, Miho, Haruto... I want you to see what I see. Surely Michael can tell you what was in those files? From the backups?"

"They were locked. We don't have access. Only Zaizen does, and not even Michael would take the chance on breaking the encryption. Zaizen tells me the secrets you've divulged to your Witch brethren could cause Solomon untold damage."

Kate sighed. "There was nothing I could do to make you see, was there? This is all there is left for me now. I don't even have your trust any more."

"You had a choice, Kate."

"And I don't regret it. It wasn't the choice you think I made, though." She smiled again. "Do it. Don't waste any more time. I'm a Witch, remember? How about it, partner?"

He couldn't stand to wait any longer.

Amon watched for a brief eternity as the bullet barrelled straight into Kate's forehead, blazing through the air before bursting crimson. In the moment before he turned away, he thought he saw tears fly from her eyes as she crumpled backwards, her arms flopping uselessly to her sides. As he strode away through the vanishing waters, he dismissed it as a romantic notion. He did not turn back.

Kate's body crunched heavily as it hit the dry floor, blood crawling out of the hole in her forehead like an insect relentlessly weaving down the side of her face.

Amon's footsteps echoed dimly through the corridors.

Soon there was nothing but darkness.

~

The police found no bullet when they discovered Kate's corpse the following day after an anonymous tip-off. There were no witnesses. There was no investigation, despite the strenuous assertions of the Chief Superintendent on the national news that there would be. The nation would forget Kate by the following week.

By the time Kosaka reported her death to the staff of Raven's Flat, the arrangements had already been quietly made for her body to be burnt and the ashes flown back to her family. It was strictly against Solomon protocol, but Amon didn't really care in this instance.

Karasuma took a long weekend to fly out for the funeral. Michael's request to leave the office was denied.

Kate had left no will. The same time she had left her apartment she had disposed of all her possessions. All she had been was scattered to the wind and water. Amon knew she would have liked that.

* * *

_Now_

Robin arrives for work completely soaked; she skidded her Vespa through a puddle the size of Lake Garda on the way (or so she thinks; she has never seen Lake Garda.) She hopes for some sympathy, but the discovery of a female body near the Tatsuokamon entrance of Tokyo University seems to be absorbing everyone's attention. A librarian has drowned on dry land while waiting for a bus to Ueno.

Karasuma runs her psychometry at the scene and comes up blank; the probable Witch has "washed away" all imprints on the area. Robin attempts to help by looking for clues but Karasuma snaps at her. She only apologises when they have nearly returned to the office.

Michael steals a list of co-workers from the police networks and starts correlating them with the database of known Witch gene-carriers. Robin buys him donuts, and is bemused to discover them uneaten when she returns to the office the following day.

Doujima is nowhere to be found. Kosaka tells Robin that she is at the university hospital viewing the victim's autopsy. Robin suspects this is a lie.

Michael phones with a match in the database; another librarian may be a carrier of the Witch gene. The team manages to corner him on campus, but he escapes amongst the throng of students. Doujima appears halfway through the chase as if nothing has happened. Robin does not press the issue. 

Sakaki stakes out the Witch's address in Matsuba-cho. When Amon and Robin arrive to relieve him he refuses to go home, claiming to have run out of gas in his bike on the way. Karasuma and Doujima turn up shortly afterwards.

It is a calm, clear night. Zaizen authorises an infiltration. STN-J confronts the Witch in his home.

He lives with his parents. He has smothered them in the night so they will not find out he is a Witch. The librarian he killed rejected him when he asked her out; he had never manifested his powers before.

His Craft is weak tonight; he has the ability to manipulate water but not generate it. Robin easily evaporates each strike he sends, drying out the air around him and sending him into coughing fits. He has not slept since the murder; his aim is wild and off-target. The team's Orbo pendants whine dully. Robin's eyes flash, flames leaping in the air.

It is not long before Karasuma fires the first bullet. It thuds into the Witch, splashing Orbo across his T-shirt. He jerks back with a gasp. The others join in, emptying their cartridges into the man's body. He falls to the ground, twitching.

Doujima suddenly holds up her hand and rushes over to the prone Witch as the bullets stop. It isn't long before Robin sees the spreading bloom of red across his chest. He is dead. 

Ballistics analysis and a proper autopsy would be needed to determine the trajectory of the fatal bullet. Karasuma makes no attempt to read its origins; the explosion of Orbo around the room has dampened her powers.

There is silence in the room, even over the earpieces. Robin looks to Amon for guidance but he has already melted into the shadows, calling something in to the Factory.

The bodies are removed from the house before dawn. Amon takes a call from Zaizen; another murder has taken place that will necessitate working a double shift that morning. There will be no debriefing.

Out of the corner of her eye Robin spots that Doujima has palmed a bullet from the body before the Factory arrived. Doujima turns, a spark of suspicion in her glance; Robin looks away hurriedly.

On the way back to Raven's Flat Michael suddenly speaks. Robin's earpiece hisses.

"She wouldn't have done that. But you couldn't take the chance."

No-one replies. Robin fills in the blanks later.

~

That night Robin takes a bath. She toys with the taps, letting the water out slowly and then pouring it out all at once. Steam blurs the room, licking under the door and back out into the apartment.

Karasuma calls home while she's cooking dinner. The gossip makes her smile. Her mother lectures her about when she is going to take her university entrance exams. A stray cat bounds through the open window of the kitchenette; Karasuma cradles the phone at her shoulder as she pets it.

Michael feeds his music through the speakers on his computer, discarding his headphones on the floor. The sound is slightly tinnier than he'd like, but he can turn the volume all the way up and nothing will leak out of the office's soundproofed walls. Guitars scream around him as he falls into the blaze of numbers and lines of code on the monitor. After a while his eyes begin to water.

Doujima compiles her latest report. She advises her father that Robin Sena is proving to be more inquisitive than they'd first expected, but chooses not to reveal the full extent of her suspicions. She uploads it from a tired old bar in the back alleys of Roppongi, sat between interchangeable rundown salarymen. She stirs a cocktail she picked at random from the drinks list before downing it rapidly and heading out into the night.

Sakaki goes on a double-date that his roommate invites him along to. His date tells him she likes his motorbike. He's not sure if that has subtext or not; she blushes when he says as much. Although he gets a goodbye kiss and her number at the end of the night, he can't remember his own and has left his phone back at the apartment. He resolves to try and call her in a couple of days, although he doesn't write it down to remind himself.

Amon puts himself on radio silence before travelling on the trains, his phone is switched off, his earpiece stashed in an inside pocket. After a few hours he finds himself wandering somewhere in Ikebukuro, fishing for hundred-yen coins in the pockets of his coat and dialling digits on a pay phone. He arranges to meet his brother near where they grew up, at a favourite spot in Asukayama Park; he watches the night rush past the window of the subway carriage and the blank, non-committal looks of his fellow passengers.

Nagira waits by an oversized plastic elephant, a cigarette wedged tightly in his fingers to light the way. He does most of the talking, has done for years; Amon has always liked it better that way. Most importantly, Nagira doesn't hold Amon responsible for anything.

Touko takes a framed photo from a drawer while Robin is in the bathroom. She ignores the slightly dusty note next to it, its hastily scrawled hiragana lettering spelling out a message she has deliberately chosen to ignore. Sitting on her bed, she traces the polished glass with her index finger for a minute or so before returning it to the bottom of the drawer, which she closes as quietly as possible. 

Robin stops playing with the taps after a while. She lies back and slowly slips under the surface of the water.

It rains.

 


End file.
